Cold December
by Bookworm-By-Day
Summary: It was once upon a December, years ago, when he had been the one wrapping that same scarf around her. Peter/Alice


**Author's Note: **This is for Miss Bree-tea.'s The Longbottom Love Challenge, my prompt being a scarf. I've never written Peter before, so I'm curious to see how everyone likes this. And the words in bold are from the song "Cold December" by Aiden.

* * *

_**i still remember what you wore**_

His last memory of her was bittersweet, filled with heartache and admiration – admiration of her beauty, heartache over the notion that he would never see her again. She had been wearing that scarf, knit with gold and scarlet, the scarf that she had owned since their years at Hogwarts. Her husband positioned it around her neck, gently wrapping it in place. His fingers grazed her collarbone, and she smiled, moving closer to him. Then they kissed, his arms wrapping around her tiny waist, her own resting leisurely on his broad shoulders. Moments later, they had pulled away, both pleasantly flushed by their romantic embrace.

It was once upon a December, years ago, when _he_ had been the one wrapping that same scarf around her. She was taller than him at that time, her hair long and falling in loose waves down her back. Snowflakes rested throughout those curls, and he desperately wanted to pick out every single one of them, just as an excuse to touch her. Their classmates raced around them, tossing snowballs and giggling raucously, but his gaze could not help but remain on her open, freckled face. She blushed – that lovely blush that heated his very soul – and squeezed his hand, tightly.

"Come on," Alice had yelled then, racing away. "Chase me, Pete, chase me!"

And he did chase her, followed her every whim and fancy. She was the puppeteer, he her puppet. She could pull his strings in any direction, and he would obey. His friends said he was mad, because she wasn't attracted to blokes like him, and that would never change. He ignored their words, knowing that there was something in the way she looked at him, something in the way she would ruffle his hair and call him her sweet boy.

_**it was the cold December air**_

She asked him that December if they would always be best friends, and he said yes. It wasn't true; he prayed for so much more than a friendship, but he wanted to please her, because her smiles made him smile, even on the darkest of days. She had laughed at that and asked what he would do for her. He would do anything, everything, and Peter told her exactly that. He would write her a poem, sing her a song, scream her name from the highest tower, bring her the moon. She liked that, she had said, and kissed him on the cheek.

They took walks in the cold air all that month. They would compete over whose snow angel was better, who made the best snowman, who had the warmest jacket. She won each time, if only because he let her, to please her. She would grin at every victory and dance in the snow, twirling about, and he would just watch her, mesmerized. It didn't matter that she would talk of other boys and their good looks, because in that moment they only had each other, and he could delude himself enough to imagine that they were together, madly in love.

He kissed her one night by the frozen lake, while the snow was beginning to fall in soft flurries. It was quick, clumsy, a first for them both. He thought she would be happy, jump into his arms and call him her sweet boy. But Alice only frowned, the saddest sight he had ever seen. Her eyebrows knit together in anger, and she asked why he had to ruin everything. She walked away, then, and he didn't follow her, because he was too busy pretending that she was still there, being the same sweet tempered best friend he knew. Maybe he would blame it on the cold air, next time he saw her, say that he was caught up in the moment. It would be a lie, of course, but anything was better than losing her.

_**the damage that's been made**_

A week later, there was Christmas, and there was Alice and Frank. They were never apart, constantly kissing and touching one another. Whenever Peter saw them, whenever she passed him by without a second glance, he felt another knife stab its way into his heart. Knowing that she had forgotten everything about him, pushed it into the back of her mind to make room for her boyfriend, caused more heartache than he thought was possible. He loved her and wanted her to be happy, but that didn't mean the bitter swell of jealousy, the fantasies of pushing Frank off Gryffindor tower and claiming her for his own, didn't invade his mind. Those were his first morbid thoughts, his first retreats into darkness, when a part of his heart was permanently destroyed.

They were partners in class, forced to make a potion together, but they barely spoke. Their whole conversation was awkward and cold, the wall that a simple sign of affection could build stuck between them. Her eyes were soft, kind when she looked at Peter, but he knew that she was thinking of Frank, wishing that he could be the one sitting so close to her. The damage was done, and she was infatuated with someone else. He blamed himself, he blamed Longbottom, he blamed her friends who could call him an ugly rat, but not her. As much as he wanted to, he could not hate Alice, only feel like a fool when she was near.

_**let's live one more time**_

It was many Decembers after the first, following a party at the Potters' home, when they spoke again. She was beautiful, so beautiful, with her short pixie cut and womanly curves, both of which she hadn't possessed during their school days. She was flushed, smiling sweetly, as they walked down the street together, his coat placed protectively over her shivering shoulders.

"You're too nice, Pete," Alice had said. "Especially to someone as horrible as me."

His heart had melted then, and he forgot everything that had happened, all the times she ignored him, all the times she refused to make eye contact. He insisted that she could never be horrible, that she was the kindest girl he knew. That made her smile, although stray tears were pooling on the tip of her nose, and she took his hand in her own. He didn't think to ask if she was still with Frank, what all this meant. He couldn't ruin this moment, like he had ruined their friendship, with his stupid questions.

She started to run down the street, dragging him along with her. He tried to warn her of the slush, tried to tell her to slow down, but he knew that it would be a waste. She was laughing, oblivious to everything around her. Her laughter only grew as she suddenly slipped, falling right on her back into a pile of slow. Peter bent down, still holding onto her hand, and asked if she was okay. She only smiled and placed a hand on his cheek, dragging him closer. Her lips landed on his, pressing roughly against them. It was passionate, filled with energy, and he felt as if an electric shock traveled through him as they touched. She pulled away after what could have been hours, in his perplexed mind, and left him with a flabbergasted expression on his face. He leaned in again, hoping with all of his remaining heart that she wouldn't push him away; but she did.

"Sorry, but I…" She sighed, guiltily diverting her gaze to the ground. "I'm engaged."

_**i feel the darkness fall**_

And it had been December when, the snow falling outside Grimmauld Place's grimy windows, Alice had left him for the last time. She was smiling once more, still reeling from her husband's kiss, as she passed by the kitchen and looked in on Peter. He sat there, head in hands, guilt racking every bone in his body. He didn't want to see her, couldn't see her, or he would never be able to go through with it. He was sending her into a trap, but it was either her and her husband or his life. He was selfish, far too selfish, to choose the second. He was scum, unworthy of her, nothing but a horrible rat.

"Do you want to come with us?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I know how you always complain about not getting enough action, and this is a really great lead –"

"No," he harshly cut through her words, not able to bear hearing her melodic voice _for the last time_. "No, just get going, okay?"

He could almost feel her hurt, feel it radiate from within her, but chose to ignore it. He simply listened to her light footsteps, heard her murmur something to Frank, and nearly sobbed when the front door shut behind them with an echoing crack. Alice, the only girl he had ever loved. Alice, the one who made him feel so wonderful and so terrible at the same time. Alice, who would never be his. Alice and everything she was, every beautiful thing, would be dead by the following week, and it was his entire fault, all due to his cowardice during that cold December.


End file.
